


Something Somehow Brilliant

by Nanadaime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, Humor, M/M, Voldemort is still a Dark Lord, that apparently includes Voldemort, tries to be a bit lighthearted but also watch out for the feels train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanadaime/pseuds/Nanadaime
Summary: Once you shared a persons thoughts and feelings you are able to truly understand them.OrHarry tries to save Voldemort from his own darkness by trying to be his friend. To say the Dark Lord is unimpressed would be a vast understatement.AU after GoF





	Something Somehow Brilliant

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this story was born as a side project while working on "To Conquer Death" (I'd be really grateful if you'd check it out *wink* *wink*) and it had helped me write when I got stuck with that one. This story is my attempt at humour and how Harry and Tom can learn to truly understand each other and what that might mean for the rest of the world.
> 
> This story will not be updated frequently, since I just got back into the flow of my other story but once I finish another chapter, I will share it with you. I hope the chapter length will be able to help you pass the time.
> 
> Your reviews are like the Elixir of Life and really help me to improve my writing.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the ride!

The first time IT happened (and yes, IT deserved capitalization) the newly resurrected Lord Voldemort chose to ignore the incident.

The second time, Voldemort thought that someone had a suicidal sense of humour and was indirectly begging him for a slow and painful death. And he would have obliged them if reassembling his forces wasn't such a time consuming endeavour.

The third time IT happened the Dark Lord was forced to entertain the thought that this was genuinely Harry-I-just-wouldn't-bloody-die-Potter's doing. Wormtail lost his other hand that day and Voldemort couldn't be bothered to replace this one.

The fourth time, he was pretty sure that Potter was behind IT. Really if the little cretin wanted to die so badly he needn't try so hard. He should have just stood still in the grave yard, two weeks ago and Voldemort would have gladly obliged him. And he wouldn't have even tortured him... much.

The fifth time made the Dark Lord wonder at Potter's sheer gall, the audacity... He wouldn't kill him, no. He would lock him up in the deepest and darkest pit he could find and torture him again and again. Maybe he would even find a way to make Potter immortal and make him suffer for all eternity. Yes, that would be suitable punishment. But since the boy was currently and most regrettably out of his reach he had to find another outlet. Severus earned himself a round of the Cruciatus this day because... well because no one liked Snape not even Lord Voldemort and he was conveniently there and... well he was Lord-fucking-Voldemort and he didn't need to justify his actions.

The sixth time IT happened brought the horrible realization that this wasn't a joke by Potter and that the obnoxious brat might actually be serious. The idea alone was so horrifying that Voldemort spent a whole hour staring at the desk in his, well Lucius', study. For his own, admittedly fragile, sanity the Dark Lord decided to ignore the incident like all the previous ones and prayed to Merlin and Morgana that it would not happen again. Naturally it happened again.

The seventh time was accompanied by resignation on the part of the Dark Lord. Potter wouldn't stop IT and since he wasn't in a position to kill him, yet, he might as well go along with this madness. And people called him insane...

Thus, he found himself in the study in Malfoy Manor, his precious Nagini curled up in front of the roaring fire-place, he sitting at the heavy oak desk, a tumbler of fire-whiskey and IT in front of him. IT being all seven god damn letters Potter had send to him. One might wonder why the very same wizard whose name people were too afraid to utter out loud was so discomforted by seven measly letters from a schoolboy. Did the contain poison or curses? Death threats or taunts? No, something quite worse. They were full, positively bursting, with inane chatter. And apparently Potter expected him to reciprocate. Voldemort held Potter's latest letter in his thin, pale fingers and asked himself, not for the first time, if a failed Avada Kedavra to the head resulted in brain damage.

_ Dear Tom, _

_ how are you? You haven't answered any of my previous letters but I guess you are quite busy. Not that I have any experience but being a Dark Lord must be pretty stressful. On that note: what does a Dark Lord do exactly? Look intimidating? Send out death threats? Torture people? You see, nobody ever told me the job description so maybe you can enlighten me. I realize this must sound quite ironic to you but I am really curious. Ok, and maybe a tiny bit ironic. _

_ I'm still very angry with you for killing my parents and Cedric but also concerned. In the graveyard I couldn't help but notice that you seemed a bit unbalanced. I hope you feel better now and this was only a side effect from getting a new body. I mean it would totally suck to be a powerful dark wizard and being insane, right? On the topic of getting a new body, I don't mean to be rude or something but why didn't you keep your original one? Nothing against this one, of course, but it's rather eye-catching, don't you think? People must recognise you everywhere you go. No privacy at all and I know what I'm talking about, people are always starring at my scar so I imagine it must be the same for you. Besides, I saw how you looked at sixteen and you were such a pretty boy, why waste such good looks?  _

_ On another matter entirely: what is your favourite food? Mine is treacle tart. I love it and always eat it at Hogwarts. Not at my relatives though, they'd rather let the neighbours know that I'm a wizard than actually give me something I like. Have you ever tried treacle tart? You should. _

_ I can't believe the summer holidays have just started and it will be another eight weeks until I'll be back at Hogwarts. I may be the only student who can't wait for school to start again. But I miss my friends and their letters thus far weren't very informative. Of course I miss Quidditch too, or flying in general I suppose. Did you play Quidditch when you were at Hogwarts? If yes, what position did you play? _

_ Gotta go now, my aunt is screaming for me to tend to the flower beds. Seriously, what does she expect me to do? It hasn't rained for nearly two weeks and the weather forecast says it probably won't anytime soon. I can tend to the flowers all she wants, without water there isn't much I can do. Hope to hear from you soon. _

_ Harry _

There were so many things wrong with this letter and all of Potter's previous ones for that matter. Completely random and meaningless but since the boy already send seven it appeared safe to assume that he honestly expected Voldemort to answer him at some point. Maybe if he did the brat would stop pestering him...

With a flourish of his arm the Dark Lord summoned a quill and parchment and began to write. He sincerely hoped Potter would get the message that they were not in fact pen pals but mortal enemies.

This night the Dark Lord had the most disturbing dream, where Potter chased him on a broomstick while throwing treacle tarts and shouting "pretty boy".

* * *

Harry James Potter was lying on his cod in what has once been his cousin Dudley's second bedroom and observed the cracks in the ceiling. Although night had fallen many hours ago the teen could not sleep. For one it was still unreasonably hot despite the open window and the young man's thoughts were plagued by the happenings at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. The graveyard, Wormtail, Cedric... Voldemort. The thought of Cedric resulted in the now familiar burst of guilt and sadness. If only he hadn't insisted that they take the cup together... But what was done was done and he hoped that Cedric and his poor parents, the agonized screams of Amos Diggory still haunted his dreams, could one day forgive him.

The thought of Voldemort should bring him pain, fear, anger, anything really except what he was really feeling. He had of course argued endlessly with himself but the fact remained: he was intrigued. Maybe it was his stupid saving people thing taken too far or his impossibly big bleeding Gryffindor heart but he had found that against all reason he wanted to help Lord Voldemort. Don't get him wrong of course he didn't want to help him to overthrow the wizarding world, kill all muggleborns and legalize muggle hunting... even if uncle Vernon could definitely use some physical exercise. No, he Harry James Potter wanted to help Lord Voldemort on a more personal level. And because Harry was self aware enough to understand that his desire to help the wizard who had killed his parents and tried to kill him on several occasions was completely barmy, he hadn't told his friends lest he earned himself a one way ticket to St. Mungo's. It was all his stupid scar's fault really. When Voldemort had touched it in the graveyard his head felt like someone tried to pry it open with a rusty iron poker and he would have done about anything for the pain to stop and when it had... well he had not recognized it immedeatly being busy fighting and running for his life and all and later the incident with Barty Crouch Jr. and Fudge's refusal to believe him and of course his misery over Cedric's death but on his first night back in his bed in Gryffindor tower he had replayed what had happened in the graveyard in his mind and came to a startling conclusion: he and Voldemort had shared their emotions that night. He had felt everything that Voldemort had and after that he couldn't really hate the other wizard anymore. He had felt his rage when he talked about his muggle father but also the faint echo of disappointment  _ \- why didn't he want me, why did he leave me at the orphanage?- _ . When he had talked about his exile and possession of small animals he had felt his pain and fear as if it was his own. And when he punished his Death Eaters there wasn't only anger and gleeful sadism but also  _ -where were you? you swore your loyalty to me, why didn't you come?- _ .

This experience had been far worse than the Cruciatus Curse because now Harry could emphasize with Voldemort, understand him and see him as a man and not the monster he made himself out to be. He didn't exactly pity him because the man was a mass murderer after all and if he ever found out that Harry felt pity for him he would most likely plan the most gruesome death for Harry. Not that he needed any added incentive. Maybe sympathise was the right expression. Yes, he sympathised with him and since he was a goody two shoe Gryffindor he wanted to... be his friend he supposed. Yep, he had most definitely gone completely nuts. Trying to be Voldemort's friend. He had better chances becoming Vernon's favourite person. Yet, here he was having send seven letters to the elusive Dark Lord in an attempt to start fresh. He had estimated that he would need to send at least seven more until he could start hoping for an answer but if Harry Potter was anything it was determined.

The green eyed boy huffed out a breath in self chastisement and traced his lightning bolt scar. Though it would be nice if Voldemort would answer soon since the letters from Ron and Hermione only soured his constantly bad mood. They didn't have any information about what was going on in the wizarding world but implied that they two of them spend the holidays at the same place while he was stuck tending to Aunt Petunia's dying flowers. Not that he begrudged his best friends their time together but after all he had been through it would only be bloody decent to let him know what was going on wouldn't it? He sighed, he did that a lot lately, and sat up on his cod to gaze out the window. The sky was clear not a cloud in sight and the stars twinkled as if they hadn't got a care in the world. Seeing that they were only balls of gas they probably hadn't. Harry giggled. Damn, he was really going barking mad.

Suddenly Harry squinted his eyes and stared at one point at the horizon. Was that movement? He adjusted his glasses and crossed the room to stand in front of the window. The shaped in the sky came nearer and nearer, it passed underneath a street lamp... and it was an owl. Harry's heart started to thump faster in his chest. Maybe a letter from Ron or Hermione or maybe even Sirius. Before he could contemplate this further the owl, which turned out to be a magnificent eagle owl, landed on the window sill and stuck out its leg imperiously. The letter attached seemed to be written on thick, creamy parchment and was addressed to simply 'Potter'. Harry had seen the handwriting two years ago when he had written in Tom Riddle's diary. Slowly a grin spread over his face. Voldemort had written back. Giddily he made to take the letter when he was interrupted in his endeavour by an indignant hoot from his beautiful Hedwig. His first ever friend glared at him completely unimpressed. She had made her opinion of her owner sending letters to Lord Voldemort completely clear by pecking his fingers hard everytime he send a letter to aforementioned Dark Lord. Only Harry's threat to find a different owl to deliver the letters could move her to take flight. It had warmed Harry's heart that she was so concerned for him and after her first trip he had been plagued by guilt. What if Voldemort harmed or killed his beautiful companion. But Hedwig was a clever owl and had probably just dumped the letters somewhere Voldemort would find them and then taken flight again. Nevertheless she did have a point. What if the letter Voldemort had send was cursed? Just because Harry was above such methods didn't mean Voldemort was. Well, in for a knut in for a sickle. With more bravado than was probably healthy Harry untied the letter and held it in his hands. Several heartbeats nothing happened. Then the eagle owl took flight again and disappeared into the darkness. Harry grinned again. Voldemort hadn't cursed the letter. Hastily Harry ripped open the envelope and started reading.

_ Potter, _

_ did I use the Cruciatus too long and too hard two weeks ago? I apologize, normally it takes me a bit longer to break the victim's sanity but apparently you didn't have any to begin with. _

_ As you pointed out in your last letter: yes, I am the man who killed your parents and probably this Cedric, whoever he was, so what on earth compelled you to write to me? Several times I might add. What gave you the ludicrous notion that I would be interested in keeping a correspondence with you? That I, the most powerful wizard alive, would be intrigued by the mind numbing chatter of an adolescent?  _

_ Have I been too nice during our previous encounters? Maybe I have not made myself clear enough on the dynamics of our acquaintance? Then let me use this letter to rectify this. I am Lord Voldemort and I will kill you at some point in the near future. The pain that will come with your inevitable demise can be tolerable if you show the appropriate behaviour to this letter and DON'T write to me ever again. _

_ Lord Voldemort _

Harry laughed lightly and did the sensible thing. He sat at his desk and started to write a reply. Hedwig flapped one of her wings in front of her head in a gesture eerily reminiscent of a human slapping the palm of their hand against their face.

* * *

Lord Voldemort was in a comparatively good mood. As good as his mood was going to get anyway. He just got the news that Dumbledore, the sanctimonious old fool, had not lost only his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot but was also slandered in the papers as the insane old codger the Dark Lord has always known him to be. Furthermore Lucius was making great progress with Fudge, throwing money left and right to make him do what Voldemort wanted him to do. After Lucius had gotten a taste of the Dark Lord's anger over the loss and subsequent destruction of his diary he was ever so motivated to not anger his master further. And people said Lord Voldemort did not know how to motivate his subjects. Currently he was sitting in a meeting with his Death Eaters planning the break out of his most faithful from Azkaban, leering over the idiocy of the Ministry and contemplating how to get his hands on the thrice damned prophecy when his mood was completely shattered by the arrival of a snowy owl. The bird landed at the head of the table where the Dark Lord sat and levelled him with a glare. Voldemort glared right back.

The impromptu staring match between owl and Dark Lord was interrupted by Snape's shaky voice.

"My Lord? Is that... Potter's owl?"

The gathered Death Eaters drew a deep audible breath as if they were one man. Well, the best lies always held a grain of truth, so he answered emphatically:

"Of course Severus. Did you miss the meeting where I announced that the brat and I are now on the best of terms? I must have replaced your invitation. Forgive me my friend."

His servants broke out into nervous laughter.

"Forgive me my Lord, I didn't mean to imply..."

He halted Severus grovelling with a lazy wave of his hand.

"If you don't wish to imply something Severus simply refrain from doing so in the future.", he hissed. All laughter stopped immediately since he used what could be referred to as his you-are-one-word-away-from-getting-tortured-voice.

"Meeting dismissed."

When his Death Eaters hurried to the doors he picked up Malfoy's voice.

"Really, Severus. As if Potter is the only person to use a snowy owl. And why on earth should he write to our Lord..."

The bang of the double doors cut out the rest of Malfoy's statement. Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes. Crisis averted. As if he would let his Death Eaters know that the brat continued to humiliate him by refusing to show him the proper deference. Especially not Severus. While he believed the potion master's excuses for now, he was nowhere near to trust him not to run to Dumbledore with such information. A loud hoot drew him out of his musings. Unfortunately the owl had not disappeared and stretched out a leg with a letter. Briefly the Dark Lord toyed with the idea of simply killing the owl but then he would probably never hear the end of it from the boy and judging the bird's blank stare it was just as impressed with her master as he himself was. A kindred spirit. Thus he relieved the bird of the letter and opened it with a resigned sigh.

_ Dear Tom, _

_ hardy-har-har. You are bloody funny. If being a Dark Lord doesn't do it for you anymore, you should consider a career as a comedian. As for who Cedric was. The boy you killed in the graveyard. Kill the spare. Ring any bells? Are you honestly trying to tell me that you killed so many people that you cannot keep track anymore? That's horrible and also a bit sad. _

_ As to what you call 'the mind numbing chatter of an adolescent': well I had to write something in order to break the ice. If you want to have more profound conversations you have to give me something to work with. Why don't you start by answering the questions I asked you in my previous letters and think of something you'd like to ask me in return? _

_ Hope your are well, _

_ Harry _

For a long time Voldemort could only silently mouth the words 'hardy-har-har' again and again. Then he was consumed by anger so intense it made the table and chairs rattle and the windows break. If Potter wanted to play like this, they would play like this. The little cretin would rue the day he was born before Voldemort was through with him.

* * *

In Little Whinging, Surrey Harry Potter pressed both hands to his forehead, which split open in agonising pain.

"Looks like Tom got my letter."

* * *

Everything was prepared. He had taken great care to send constant pulses of pain to Potter these past days and now he would use this inexplicable connection he had inadvertently formed with the boy to his full advantage. Since Potter could pick up his emotions through his scar it seemed reasonable to assume that, with the careful employment of Legilimency, he could also send visual stimuli to the boy. To his chagrin Voldemort could still not explain how exactly the normally impossible feat of long distance use of the mind arts between the two was feasible but that would not stop him from teaching the boy a lesson. Several lessons. Until he would break and beg for death. Armed with this resolution the Dark Lord sank into his own mind and searched the connection to the little shit. It was amusingly easy to get into his mind and form his thoughts according to Voldemort's will. No Occlumency barriers whatsoever. Seriously, did Dumbledore even try to teach the boy anything?

Lord Voldemort watched how the graveyard of Little Hangleton formed around him and there: the consciousness of one Harry Potter formed itself along with it. He watched how the boy started looking around frantically, no doubt recalling exactly what had happened at this place only three weeks ago.

"Damn, not another nightmare..."

The Dark Lord created a manifestation of his own consciousness and walked towards the boy at a leisure pace. Said boy started to search his pockets frantically for what Voldemort assumed was his wand but since he was in control of their little mind connection Potter wouldn't find it. Not that it would have helped him if he did. Suddenly the boy stopped his movements and looked at Voldemort with a look of utmost concentration. Then his eyes went wide and he loudly proclaimed: "This isn't a nightmare! This is real, you're really here... err wherever we are that is."

A little disappointed that the first part of his game was up already Voldemort deigned to answer the boy.

"Indeed. As to where: I would have thought you'd remember Potter. Or was my resurrection this unremarkable to you?"

"Of course I remember.", the boy spat at him indignantly, "But we are not really there, are we? Is this my scar? Can you enter my head?"

Finally, the insufferable brat showed the proper amount of fear. Voldemort took a moment to relish in it.

"Ten points to Gryffindor, Potter. You are not as stupid as I initially believed. Yes, as you so crudely put it I can enter your head through your scar. Fascinating, isn't it."

Potter gulped audible. Delightful.

"If this is about my letters, really you could have just send one back, no need to get into my head."

"Oh, I disagree boy.", Voldemort hissed, "I warned you, rather nicely if I say so myself, to desist and yet you thought you could further humiliate Lord Voldemort. I think it is time to face the consequences of your actions..."

"Wait, you thought I wanted to humiliate you?"

The brat's sole purpose in life seemed to be aggravating him. He had prepared a rather impressive domination speech and the fucking boy thought it prudent to simply interrupt him. Then the meaning of Potter's words caught up with him.

"Of course. Why else would you start to send me letters?"

"Huh, didn't I make this clear in the letters? I want to get to know you more."

This, of course, completely blind-sided Voldemort. And the boy said this with a nonchalance as if stating that he, Lord Voldemort was the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Which he was.

He hissed and then laughed cruelly.

"Did you really think I would just hand over vital information to you like this?", he narrowed his eyes, "Don't tell me Dumbledore put you up to this. This is so insane and completely unreasonable that it must be a scheme of the old fool's design."

Potter had the audacity to snort. How plebeian.

"Hardly. This was all my own idea and I don't want any 'vital information' as you call it. I mean whether or not I know if you played Quidditch in school will hardly help me survive if you decide to show up and off me.", he shrugged, "As I said, I was hoping we could get to know each other better, like friends I suppose."

"This is the most ridiculous statement I ever had the misfortune to hear Potter."

The boy blinked innocently up at him. "Why?"

"Why? Because we are trying to kill each other, Potter, that's why!"

"Correction,", he stated calmly, "you try to kill me. I haven't got any desire to kill anyone."

"I killed your parents, surely you must hate me for this act against you alone."

"Well it doesn't make me happy with you, that's for sure. But I don't hate you, hate is too strong a word. Besides, I don't think I am even capable of hating you with what happened at the graveyard and all."

Voldemort shortly spared a thought about what happened at the graveyard. The memory was not as clear as he would have liked, the euphoria of having a new body accompanied by the pain of being ripped from the plane between life and death dulled his recollection of said night. He remembered the order of events but the emotions were dulled and muddled. Murky. Hazy. The brat was right when he implied a momentary loss of his mental faculties back then, not that Lord Voldemort would ever admit such a weakness to Potter.

"And what exactly happened that could possibly prevent you from hating me? Was it the kidnapping, the torture or the murder attempt?"

His words were positively dripping with sarcasm. It was becoming more and more obvious that the boy would greatly benefit from an extended stay in the Janus Thickney Ward.

"You didn't notice, huh?", the question was spoken softly, the words barely breaching the distance between them. Impossible wide green eyes regarded him with a curious mix of sadness, pity and pain in them.

"Didn't notice what?", his patience was quickly wearing thin. A vesuvian rage roaring in his chest. How dare Potter pity him? He was the greatest wizard alive. He did neither want nor need anyone's pity. The bespectacled boy seemed to pick on the explosive anger raging just beneath the Dark Lord's skin and quickly tried to appease him.

"Well, you see, when you got your body back this connection we have through my scar opened and I felt everything you did. Like reading your thoughts but also like feeling your emotions like they were my own. And it was rather...err, sad and painful, wasn't it?", a pause, then the boy looked at him again like he was the saddest thing he had ever seen.

"I can't possibly hate you, Tom, when I understand you, shared your feelings."

It was too much. Too much for Lord Voldemort to comprehend. With an inhuman cry he wrenched himself back into his own mind. Panting, thoughts whirling he stared at the ceiling above him. Then he stood up and stared to systematically blow the room to smithereens.

* * *

_ Tom, _

_ I know that was probably a lot to take in last night. He-he, that sounds completely wrong. Anyway I hope you are well? _

_ Harry _

* * *

_ Tom, _

_ I am really starting to worry. A letter would be nice, just so I know you are okay. And if you have any questions I try my best to answer them. _

_ Harry _

* * *

Harry was in an odd state between dream and lucidity. He could still feel his body lying on his cod in what had once been Dudley's second bedroom but in his mind he was also sitting on a swing in the neighbourhood park. He felt his shirt sticking to his sweaty skin but also felt himself swinging slightly back and forth. Suddenly, the air shifted, his surroundings solely focused on his mind's recollection of the park and everything appeared sharper, more real. When the chains of the swing next to him rattled he knew what it meant.

"Good evening, Tom."

He did not receive a greeting in return, only a heavy indrawn breath, probably in response to the use of his muggle name. When Harry turned he could not prevent the barking laugh that escaped him upon seeing pale, snake like Voldemort, all shrouded in black robes sitting on a muggle swing.

If Voldemort's red-eyed stare would have been as deadly as his curses, Harry would have been six feet under already.

"Potter, I'm warning you!"

"Sorry, but... gasp...you on a...gasp... a muggle swing..."

Voldemort rolled his eyes heavenward, as if praying for strength, and pinched the skin between his eyes. If he had a nose he would have pinched its bridge.

"Do you suppose that this is the first time I'm sitting on a muggle swing?"

Silence. Actually Harry had never considered Lord Voldemort's relationships with swings. He promptly told him so.

"Contrary to popular belief I was not already born as I am now. So, yes in my childhood I occasionally sat on a swing."

Harry tried to imagine a little boy who looked like the handsome prefect he had met in the Chamber of Secrets sitting on a swing. The image was so adorable that he could barely refrain from cooing.

"...ter. Potter!"

"Yes?"

"Surely you must be curious as to the nature of my visit."

"Err... you wanted to see me?"

"I want to see your corpse, there is a distinction."

"You know, your death threats are losing their effect the more often you repeat them. But by all means why have I earned the honour of your presence, oh great Lord of evil and doom?"

"Careful, Potter. A little respect won't hurt you while I most certainly will.", as if on cue Harry's forehead started to burn unpleasantly.

"Alright, alright, stop it. Why are you here?"

Voldemort looked at him with a blank face. Just as Harry thought that he would not get a response, he stated quietly:

"The graveyard... the connection that manifested itself... you claimed that you shared my feelings that night..."

Yes, Harry had said that. Did that mean that Voldemort wanted to talk about what they had shared? Unlikely, but the man had fallen quiet again.

"So... err... do you want to talk about it?"

Voldemort hissed like an incensed rattle-snake and spat: "I do not want to talk about my...  _ feelings _ . I seek to understand the nature of our connection.", the word feeling was said in the same tone of voice in which Vernon always called him  _ boy _ . So the concept must be really distasteful for Voldemort.

"What exactly do you mean with 'the nature of our connection'? You forged it when you threw a bloody killing curse at me when I was one!"

"Language, Potter! And imagine that: I was already able to determine that part for myself. What I want to know is why we have this connection in the first place, when such a thing should be impossible and how it works."

"Well, Dumbledore once told me that you gave me some of your powers the night you tried to kill me."

Voldemort slowly blinked and then exclaimed: "That is the greatest bullshit I have ever heard. Don't tell me you believed him?"

Now, Harry felt just stupid, because yes, he had believed this explanation without question. Voldemort took his sullen silence as confirmation.

"Well, he either lied to you or really doesn't know what it is and made up something to pacify your curiosity. With the old fool I'm betting on the former. Either way it seems that he can not be used as a reliable source of information."

Normally Harry would have come to his headmaster's defence, however, the letters Harry received from Ron, Hermione and Sirius all stated that they could not tell him anything because Dumbledore had sworn them to silence. In light of that Harry felt a bit resentful towards the man and chose to remain silent. Not as if he could ever convince Voldemort of Dumbledore's good character traits anyway.

"So you did not give me some of your powers I take it?"

"No, Potter I did not because it is impossible. Magical powers can not be transferred or shared between persons. If they could be there would be no need for Hogwarts. Or there wouldn't be any squibs, or muggles for the matter. People could just give their magic to anybody, couldn't they? Besides if I had given you some of my powers your magical performance would be vastly more impressive."

Harry's fascination with Voldemort going into lecture mode faded with the insult to his magical prowess.

"Well, you gave me at least one of your powers: Parseltongue."

Harry watched Voldemort's face go slack with shock. Take that!

“You... you speak it?”

Harry imagined a snake and hissed back, “Yes.”

After several minutes of slack-faced silence on Voldemort's part, Harry began to worry that he had suffered a stroke or something.

“Erm... you okay?”

No reaction.

“Voldemort?”

The man slowly blinked. Alright, progress.

“Lord Voldemort? You-know-who? Dark Lordness? Tom?...”

Like an enraged rattle-snake the Dark wizard turned to the boy and hissed in anger. Harry could not tell if it was parseltongue or an angry hissy fit.

“I told you, boy, to not call me by that name. You obnoxious little brat...”

 

Previous experience had taught Harry that it was best to take the wind out of Voldemort's metaphorical sails before the man could work himself up into a proper rage induced monologue.

 

“Alright, alright, I won't call you T-, erm, that name anymore but do you mind telling me what just came over you? You kind of spaced out there for a minute.”

 

“I believe I just had an epiphany, Potter.”, came the hoarse reply.

 

“Sorry, a what?”

 

“A moment of sudden and great revelation.”

 

And what a great revelation it must be, Harry wryly mused, that the older man did not use the chance to lord his superior diction over the teenager.

 

“So...”, Harry huffed, “Would you mind telling me about this epiphany of yours?”

 

But Voldemort did not hear him. The man was starring into nothingness, all the while mumbling to himself: “Of course in theory... but without my intent... like Nagini... that would explain...”

 

It was kind of fascinating, watching Voldemort think. Harry could practically see the thoughts spinning in his mind jumping around from one point to the next, too quick to follow. But then again: Tom Riddle had been the most gifted student Hogwarts ever had. Besides, it was comforting to see that he hadn't completely lost the plot, despite evidence to the contrary.

 

“Gah!”

 

The Dark Lord's sudden exclamation had Harry nearly fall of the swing.

 

“What...”

 

“I need to check something, Potter. Immediately. I'll be in touch.”

 

“Oi, wait!”, but the dark magician was already gone. Harry's curiosity was piked. Clearly this epiphany of Voldemort had something to do with the connection they shared. And if Dumbledore had fed him bullshit when he'd asked about it... well, Voldemort said he would be in touch, didn't he? One way or the other the green-eyed boy was determined to get his answers.

 


End file.
